


my heart is sometimes strange and wild

by tekuates



Category: Dead Poets Society (1989)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, Yuletide, Yuletide 2014, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 18:01:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2821238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tekuates/pseuds/tekuates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Todd were to write a poem about Neil, he thought he could write an epic on his hands alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my heart is sometimes strange and wild

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smaychel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smaychel/gifts).



It was widely known at Welton Academy that Meeks was the one you went to if you wanted to learn something, and Pitts if you wanted to build something – but if you wanted to fix something, you went to Neil. When Meeks’ knowledge and Pitts’ expertise failed, you would take whatever it was – in this case the mess of wires the boys charitably called a radio – to Neil, who would take it and laugh, saying, “You know I’m no good at this stuff.” But despite his protests, whatever had been brought to him would be fixed in a matter of hours, or it was past saving.

Todd came in to the room one lazy fall afternoon, the air just the right side of chilly and the sun positively dripping from the trees. The radio was on Neil’s desk. Neil was at the window, staring up into the trees.

“Hey,” Todd said, and shut the door behind him.

Neil didn’t say anything, just shot him a glance and a half-smile, and went back to gazing out the window. He got into these tranquil moods sometimes, Todd had learned, where he went very quiet and content – usually just after finishing a book, reading or writing a poem. Evidently a gorgeous fall day would do the same. It was nice. Todd did love the talkative, energetic Neil, but the quiet was nice too, and easier for Todd to keep up with.

“Radio?” Todd asked.

“Yeah,” Neil said, not looking away from the window. He was probably writing a poem, spinning the threads of it effortlessly out of thin air, or the sunlight, or his own crazy wild thoughts.

“Can I watch?” Todd said, without thinking about it. He could feel, instantly, that his face was getting hot, red sitting high on his cheeks. “Because I, I wanted to s-see how – to learn about radios.”

“Yeah,” Neil said again, and turned from the window, came and sat at his desk. Todd sat on the end of Neil’s bed. “I don’t really know what I’m doing, though.”

Todd considered protesting, but Neil had already started sizing up the radio, tilting it to one side, running a finger down one wire, and Todd kept quiet. He loved to watch Neil work; the way his eyes went clear and focused, the way his hands positively flew over the radio, pulling a wire out here; bending one there; tightening a screw with the flat of his pocket-knife. His hands were like creatures of their own. If Todd were to write a poem about Neil, he thought he could write an epic on his hands alone.

One day, Todd thought, he would write a poem about Neil. _For_ Neil. Right now, though, he was waiting for the words, the bravery not only to tell his secret to Neil, but to codify the thoughts that swirled through his head whenever Neil was around, _dark eyes that you could drown in, that you could happily be swallowed by, and those hands, God, those hands_ –

“Todd,” Neil said. “Hey, quit spacing out on me, Anderson.”

“Sorry,” Todd said, jolting a little bit, surprised. “Sorry – go on.”

Neil went on, saying something about a loose connection and “I think if we just – “, but Todd wasn’t listening again, just watching the precise graceful flutter of Neil’s hands over the radio, fluttering, it seemed, at the same speed as Todd’s heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "The Message" by George William Russell. 
> 
> Happy Yuletide!


End file.
